Summary

Her skin is the color of the moon, her hair is like rivers of fire, and her eyes are sharp shards of ice. She lives in Mirkwood; she knows its secrets, its paths, and its horrors. That is why Gandalf chose her, chose her to lead the dwarves through that cursed forest. But Ithildae is far from human, the black blood of an Orc flows through her veins.

Shadow of the Moon

Part One: Memory of a Life Past

*All dialogue is automatically Black Speech.*

Chapter One

Beginning of the Moon

-T.A. 2749-

Clawed stone carvings covered the walls, their patterns clinging to the faint memories of the ones that once walked the halls. The ceilings were high and arched with grand Dwarven architecture, ancient and worn from countless years of feral life. Moria was truly a marvel. But the squeals and arguments of young Orcs filled the magnificent stone room, taking away from its majesty. Down below, were dozens of young Orcs, both male and female. They were young, the males just beginning to learn the techniques of battle.

One Orcling stood out from the others. He was taller and stronger than the others, his features were startling: icy blue eyes and pure, bone white skin. His name was Azog. Some thought him a mutation, a freak. Others saw the greatness in him – he would be a mighty leader one day.

Azog just bested an older, larger imp. He was feeling a sense of pride, the older Orclings' dagger rested on his hip. To show his dominance he pushed a smaller, weaker, Orcling to the ground. The victim squawked as Azog's foot connected with his stomach. The Pale Orcling kept kicking the little Orc.

"Let him be!" A high pitched voice shouted from the gathering crowd of Orclings. They had been attracted by all the commotion and were there to watch.

Azog glared at the crowd around him, looking for the opposing voice. He was appalled that someone would dare oppose him. Then, from out of the crowd, a young female pushed her way forward. Her oddly ashen green eyes glowed with a furious hatred. Azog noticed something about this little female, her hair was of a coal red hue, falling around her in a shocking, thick curtain. Like all female Orcs, she was far less twisted and vile than the males. She had smooth, deep, grey skin, slender limbs and a fair face. She would be beautiful when she came of age.

"Stupid girl, you can't stop me." Azog snarled.

Azog was expecting her to back down, not lunge at him like a rabid warg. She was screaming and clawing, her hair was scattered and wild. With sickening ease, Azog threw her to the ground and pulled his newly won dagger.

Females were not supposed to attack males – it was an unspoken law among Orcs. Azog saw a flicker of fear in her grey-green eyes. He smirked. He had her beat. But she was not done yet. In the feeling of defense, she lunged back up with renewed fire. Out of reflex, Azog slashed the dagger upward. A cry of pain came from her lips. From below the knee up to her mid thigh there was a very deep gash. Black blood was pouring from her leg.

Azog nodded and gave a cruel smirk, his icy eyes gleaming.

"No one will want you now." He hissed before he spat on her trembling form and turned away, a group of males laughing coarsely from his side.

She laid there, in shock, blood pouring from her leg, she was humiliated and ruined. Females were not supported to be scarred. Males liked them to be unscathed until they bit them, symbolizing their union as mates. She was tainted, forever to be alone unless a male decided to look past her new deformity. The knife had gone deep, too deep, deeper than Azog had intended. She was now crippled. Bola felt a drop of water slide from her eye, she was unwanted.

-T.A. 2799-

Years passed and the Orclings of that time grew into mature Orcs. All of the males mated with females, the females bore their young. All the while Bola watched with sorrow as her peers grew and gave birth. No male wanted her. Any attraction was snuffed out by the severe limp in her left leg. Instead of becoming a mother, she became the Elder Orc's apprentice. She learned everything the old female Orc knew, from healing and birthing Orclings, to counseling of war for the males.

She would see the other females watching over their now walking youngsters and hatred would course through her veins at the thought of the Pale Orc who crippled her and taken her chance of children away. The female never saw him again.

Bola grew to be very beautiful - by Orcish standards. Her body matured, she was slender with wide hips, good for bearing young, her shoulders were wiry and strong her breast was full. And her face was round and carved sharply, the fairest any of the older Orcs had seen in a long time. If she was left unharmed she would have been the mate of a king.

No male wanted to mate with a cripple, even if she was born healthy. She glared at the ground as she built a fire out of old rags and bones. She vented her anger on the bone she was spinning between her palms. Soon a little fire had sprouted and was spreading over the rancid kindling. The smell of smoke filled her sensitive nostrils and burned her ash green eyes. The sound of another Orcess shuffling behind her made her head lift up.

"Don' look now, but yer crippler has returned." Aklash, an old friend of Bola's murmured from behind her, a healthy Orcling rested on her hip.

Hot, blind rage clouded Bola's vision as she stood slowly, relying on her right leg to stand.

"Where is he?" The crippled female said. Her voice was cold as ice.

Aklash snorted.

"Bola, ye wouldn't be able ta hurt him, he's huge!" The mother Orc warned.

"I want to see him… I haven't seen him since that day…" Bola began to hobble towards the echoes of excited voices.

She limped her way to the center square of the ancient subterranean Dwarven city. Her eyes were watching the ground in front of her, making sure her feet did not falter. Then she looked up, her hand supporting her against the side of a house, gazing into the stone square of the aged city.

There was a dance of stars in her mind as she laid her eyes on her crippler. She felt like something tore itself out of her being and latched onto that tall, pale, male standing there, arrogantly accepting the praises thrown his way. Deep ravine like scars crisscrossed over his broad and muscular chest. More scares littered his toned body and only a long, leather loincloth covered his body. Strength and power radiated from him.

Bola felt a shiver slither down her back, not knowing if it was fury or attraction… or a mix of both. Disgust also welled up in her. This was the male that crippled her. She could never deem him a possible mate. Besides that, he was their master. A crippled healer would mean nothing to him.

-xXx-

Azog's ice shard eyes roamed the crowd, taking in how many Orclings there seemed to be. He was proud to lead such a strong settlement. He returned from years of marauding. It was time for him to continue his line with a female who was purely his own.

There were many females huddled around the edges of the crowd, but his eyes did not longer on any of them. They lifted up to the surrounding buildings. That was when he locked onto her, standing in the shadows of a stone house. She was the most striking thing he had ever seen, her flame red hair cascading like rivers around her shoulders, her eyes were glittering with hatred, hatred directed at him.

He felt something snap inside of him as he looked at this beauty, she was the One. The one he was going to mate with. She would bear his young and stand by his side as a queen. But instead of coming forward or smiling under his deep gaze, she sent him a withering glare before she stepped back into the deep shadows. Azog felt a disappointment and confusion well up inside of him. He had to find her again.

-xXx-

War was brewing outside of Moria. The Dwarves had declared war and were marching on the gates. They would be there soon. Bola busied herself with mending armor and preparing supplies for healing. It came to her attention that Azog was near, and he was watching her closely, yet subtly. She was dreading when he would approach her. Bola was not sure if she could speak to him without doing something violent or ridiculous.

His advancement inevitably came when she was gathering water in the large underground lake.

"I am surprised you don't have a mate…" A deep voice rumbled from behind her.

Bola saw white rippled in the water.

"No one wants a cripple," She scoffed through clenched teeth, fighting the overwhelming the tug towards him.

She felt him come closer to her, she inwardly cursed.

"You do not seem deformed…" He mused, a purr in his voice.

She glared at the water before standing as quickly as her leg would allow and turning to face him – swallowing the affection in her mind and letting the rage of his deeds feed her actions. He was like a white mountain behind her; she craned her neck upward in order to make eye contact. Bola gestured to her deeply scarred leg, his eyes widened.

"Who did this to you?" He hissed, utterly furious that a male did this to the one he wished to call his mate.

She gave him a disbelieving look.

"You don't remember, do you?" She spat before picking her water skin off of the ground and limping away furiously.

Horror rose in Azog's chest, those eyes, the hair, it was her, the little female who had attacked him all those years ago. He had crippled her. He had made her unwanted and unmated. He was beyond furious with himself, guilt coursed through his veins. He crippled his One. He hurt her, mates were supposed to protect one another.

Trying to console himself from his guilt, he tried to imagine what it would do to his reputation if he took a lame mate, the shame of a cripple bearing his offspring. A deep growl escaped his lips as he stormed away, he could not brood on this anymore. He had a battle to prepare for.

-xXx-

Bola watched as the legions of Orcs readied for battle, Azog stood at their head, a heavy mace in his hand. He was in foul mood once he learned of what he did to her. She stood by the huge stone gates, covered in their shadow. Nevertheless, Azog knew she was there. His gaze caught hers, their eyes locked, he gave her the barest of nods then the Orc general let out a loud bellow, signaling the departure of the army. Bola felt a painful tug on her heart, she feared for his life.

-xXx-

Bola was quite daring and stayed near the gates, hearing the sounds of battle raging outside. Then the victorious yells of Khuzdul echoed into the halls and a screaming Orc was dragged through the gates. It was Azog, and his left arm was missing from below the elbow. Bola's heart almost ripped out of her chest, she felt his pain.

Black blood was trailing from behind several Orcs that were dragging him through Moria. Bola limped as fast as she could to the healer. However, the Elder already saw Azog's plight. The old Orcess began barking out orders; two young females scurried off to retrieve bandages and fire. Save for Bola, she was given another task, to find a replacement arm. The crippled Orcess jumped on this task as fast as she could. Loosing limbs was not an uncommon occurrence, but the chances of the victim surviving were slimmer than Bola liked.

There was a box of tangled metal poles and hooks. Some had curved ends, others had three pronged like forks, she saw some like tridents. But nothing reminded her of Azog. That was, until her hand found a rather nasty looking piece of metal. It was long and had four prongs forming a grotesque, clawed, hand. She nodded, this would work very well.

-xXx-

Azog was lying on a stone ground writhing and growling in delirious pain. Everything was a blur of movement and colors, voices were echoing and distant. Then, through his cloudy mind, he heard a familiar voice, it was her. He tried to focus his vision to where he heard her voice. The wounded Orc saw her red hair. This comforted him, she was with him.

Bola's instinct was screaming at her to comfort him, to save him. His growls of pain were almost unbearable. The Elder had a cloth pressed to his arm to try and stop the blood flow, but it was not working, inky black blood still poured from the limb.

"Will he live?" She asked the Elder orc.

"We need ta get tha wound burned off, gimme tha claw!" The Elder yanked the nasty looking pronged pole from her hands. "And Bola, go ta his side and keep him as calm as ye can," She added before jamming the prosthetic up his forearm until it was sticking out the end of his elbow.

Azog let out a deafening bellow, his face contorted with pain. Bola was by his side, his head resting in her lap. He was trying to grab an invisible weapon to smite all those around him. Bola ran her hand on his scarred cheek in a soft, soothing manner, he began to still, her heart fluttering at the feel of his odd skin. His eyes opened slightly, he stilled completely when he saw who was comforting him. Azog did not want to hurt her again.

The Elder watched as Bola calmed him, she had done it effortlessly. She was tender and caring when she touched him. Strange, he was the one who crippled her. He looked at her with care, the way a male looked at his mate. The Elder smirked, they were both crippled now. Nothing was between them.

-xXx-

Azog was unconscious for a week after they had burned the wound and given him his prosthetic. Bola was always tending him. The Elder put his welfare in her hands. He barely woke during that time, barely more than a shift in his sleep. But every time he did, it always gave her hope that he would wake.

And one day he did.

-xXx-

Everything was blurry and painful when Azog opened his eyes. He tried to sit up but found that he was too weak. A frustrated growl of pain escaped his throat as he collapsed back down onto the floor. There was a scurry of uneven steps, a ruffle of air, and small arms wrapping around his shoulders that lowered him to the ground. Azog looked to see who was helping him. It was her.

He relaxed and gave into her gentle pushing. When he was lying back down she grabbed a nearby rag out of a bowl and began to wipe his cheek. She would not meet his eyes.

"You stayed…" He said, his voice ragged and hoarse.

Azog reached up to touch her face. Instead of his familiar pale had lifting up to cup her cheek, a grotesque claw rose in place. It was a moment of confusion. He could still feel as if his hand was still there, yet when he flexed nothing happened. His hand was truly gone.

"Are you alright?" She asked him.

He looked up to meet her eyes. There was an almost shy look in her ash-green depths.

"Of course I am," He growled. "I am not weak." He tried to stand.

"No, you can't walk yet. You must rest, your wounds were bad." Bola said, putting effort into pushing him back onto the ground. He growled softly but complied to the female's wishes. Soon, at the feeling of her soft touches, his eyes closed and he faded back into darkness.

-xXx-

A week passed and Bola began to feel very comfortable in Azog's presence, the bond seeming entirely natural. She would replace the bandages around his arm and stay in his company for a short time. He enjoyed those times, they both did. Any trace of anger towards him would vanish when she stepped into the room where he lay. He would smile at her as she brought him food and bandages.

He would watch her tend to his arm with a heated, unblinking gaze. Meeting his eyes with her own would cause a burning in her body. Bola resolved to keep her eyes focused on her work. But one day it was not enough for Azog to just observe her. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to be his and his alone, to properly claim her as his mate.

It went just like the other days; Bola would enter, smile, limp over to his side, and begin to tend his arm. She was in the middle of re-wrapping the stump when his remaining hand slid to her leg, tracing the deep scar that lingered there. She stilled. Her dark eyes flicked to his. There was an undeniable lust in their depths. She swallowed wondering what to do.

She did not have to do anything, really. Azog was up and holding her down before she could even blink, his chest heaving from the need to mate. He gave a sharp nip to her neck, asking for her approval. Females would have the final say in whether or not they would forever mate with a male. A sense of irony rose in her mind. How ironic that the Orc who had crippled her and called her worthless wanted nothing more that to mate with her.

Bola's mind was numb for a moment before instinct kicked into her actions. She smirked and teasingly nuzzled his neck. She felt a deep vibrating growl emit from his chest. The Orcess picked the place where his neck met his shoulder and bit down hard. His blood filled her mouth, he growled in pleasure. Then he bit her in the same place.

They were now bound together, they were mates.

-xXx-

Bola shifted in her sleep, something heavy was draped over her torso. Her eyes opened and she saw white. She was confused for a moment, why was she –? Then everything hit her, she was laying beside Azog, her mate. The thought made her smile softly. His thick arm was holding onto her bare form protectively. She tried to wiggle her way out from his secure grasp but he was much, much stronger than she.

"Where are you going?" His deep voice rumbled from beside her.

"I need to breathe." She grumbled.

He chuckled and the weight around her waist disappeared. She sat up and yawned, her sharp white fangs glinting in the low torch light. Her wiry arms stretched out and her back straightened. The feel of cool fingers trailing up her spine made her shiver. The fingers made their way to her thick hair where they took to gently combing through her deep ginger locks.

"I hope our offspring have your hair," he mused.

The realization that she would become pregnant made her stay silent. She would not be surprised if there was already a child beginning to grow within her womb.

"You don't wish to have imps?" He murmured, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, being wary of the metal claw.

"Course I do! I just believed I never would." A small grin graced her features.

He nuzzled her neck.

"Our young will be strong, they will be leaders."

"Of course they will be," She said and rested her head on his shoulders.

-xXx-

Months Later…

Bola sighed and tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness hit her. So she remained sitting on the ground inside of her stone home. Soon after they mated, Azog made her move into a large stone home which had most likely been a Dwarven nobles' house. The home was relatively untouched and some artifacts from the dwarves still remained there.

There was some confusion when Bola and Azog mated. After a few rolled heads and slashed faces, Azog lodged it in the minds of the other Orcs that there was nothing wrong with him being mated to Bola. And she was perfectly happy with that, she was mated to a strong male who would not let anything happen to her.

Bola was correct, their mating made her stomach swell with child. This was why she could not get off the floor. Her stomach was bigger than it should be at the time. The Elder was worried that the child would be too big for her to birth naturally.

Azog traipsed off to go raiding a month or so after they mated, when his arm was healed. She really wished he was home. He could help her get up. Actually, he had not known she was carrying his child when he left. Knowing Azog he probably would not have gone off if was aware.

Bola grunted in pain when the baby started to violently kick and move in her womb. She laid a hand on her twitching stomach.

"I haven't forgotten you," she said, rubbing circles on her swollen stomach.

The baby calmed, then gave a much more timid and gentle wiggle. She smiled.

"That's better."

"I leave you alone for a few months and I come back and you're talking to yourself." A deep rumble came from behind her.

Her head turned and she grinned at the sight of her pale mate. He had a heavy sack slung over his shoulder and a teasing grin on his scarred lips.

"Help me up," She said.

Worry filled his eyes; he swung the heavy bag down from his shoulders with ease. He strode towards her.

"Is it your leg?" He stopped when he saw her swelled stomach. She smirked at his expression of surprise, he was lost for words.

"This is your fault," She glared teasingly.

Azog stood and stared at her stomach for a moment more before kneeling. He put his large remaining hand on her stomach. The baby reacted to the contact, kicking and wiggling about. The Pale Orc grinned, pride shown in his eyes.

"He will be very strong."

She grinned, placing her forehead against his. Azog returned the gesture then wrapped her up in his arms and lifted her from the ground.

"You must rest," He insisted.

Bola rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine. I've survived six months without resting, a few more –"

"No, rest, now." Azog lay her down on a stone bed piled with warg furs.

"Azog I'm –"

"Rest," He ran his hand over her hair.

She gave him a half hearted glare before settling into the furs and closing her eyes, she really was tired, her breathing soon evened out and she fell fast asleep.

Azog let out a soft puff of air and sat down beside his mate. He saw her stomach twitch slightly. He reached out and laid his hand on her womb, he felt the child moving around. On one side of her stomach it seemed to be fighting in an invisible battle and on the other side it seemed as if it was curious, just wiggling softly. His brow creased, it was almost as if there were two different children in the womb of his mate. He shook his head, twins were exceedingly rare. Bola should not be carrying twins.

-T.A. 2800-

A few months later…

Azog awoke to the anguished cry of his mate. Bola was sitting up, clutching her stomach.

"Agh, it's time!" She gasped.

Azog was by her side in a flash, scooping her up and carrying her to the tent of the Elder. On the way he noticed that Bola was wet, but it was not urine. It was a wetness that he had never smelled before. This concerned him, something could be wrong with the baby. The Pale Orc pushed the tent open and lay Bola down on the warg skins reserved for child birth. The Elder was already up and boiling rags.

"I had a feelin' she'd birth tonight," The Elder croaked.

"If either of them die, it will be on your head!" Azog hissed, icy eyes flashing violently.

A bored expression was on the old female's face, she dealt with protective fathers regularly.

"I'll do all I can," She said.

Azog looked to his groaning, sweaty mate once more before leaving the tent.

-xXx-

Hours passed until Bola let out an ear splitting cry and another wail joined her own. It was a baby Orc cry. The cry was guttural and loud, it would have scared any human mother to death. The child continued to cry. Azog could tell he (or she, but he was fairly sure it was a he) was very angry with what was occurring. The Pale Orc heard Bola give a short cry of surprise, although he barely heard it over the shrieks of the baby. He heard a little squeak and the baby stopped its wailing.

Time passed and all was in a peaceful silence. Soon, a rustle of the tent and the head of the Elder nodding to him signaled Azog to come see his heir. The Pale Orc pushed the tent open and strode in. Bola laid, her hair sweaty and her eyes glazed, on a fresh warg skin.

The Elder seemed grave, she looked to the mated pair,

"Her birth was straining, I don't think ye'll be able ta have anymore imps,"

Bola blinked rapidly and looked down before flicking her gaze up to her mate's, who had the smallest smile on his face. He would not throw her out for lack of many heirs. She was his other half.

Bola smiled to him and nodded in the direction of a cradle. He walked to the cradles' edge and looked in. At once he saw a big baby boy with a tuft of dark ginger hair on his forehead, his skin was a very, very light grey. The little boy had a scowl on his already unsightly face. He was the making of a strong Orc leader. Then Azog heard the softest of coos. His eyes trained to another little figure lying beside his son.

A baby girl.

The little girl had her blue eyes opened wide and her feet in the air. Her head was completely covered in red hair. Flawless pearl skin covered her small body, it seemed to glow dully in the low light. Azog felt a smile tug at his lips. The boy was grunting violently in his sleep, jerking about. But the girl lay there, her eyes looking around, her small pale fist securely jammed in her mouth.

Azog extended a finger to his daughter. The movement made her new eyes look his way. Her tiny hand unclenched and reached out for her father's finger. The moment her soft baby hand touched his rough scarred finger he knew this was his favorite child.

"They're strong," Bola's tired voice said.

"Yes, he will be feared when he grows older… she will be beautiful." He muttered, touching the downy hair on his daughter's head.

Bola snorted with laughter at her mate's comment. He was already dictating their fates.

"Will you bring the boy to me? He needs to eat." She added, sobering.

"The boy is sleeping. I will bring you the girl."

Bola's brow rose as she watched her giant mate pick up the tiny baby with tenderness she did not know he possessed. Azog held the child carefully. Bola could tell he was afraid to drop her. But soon the little baby Orcess was lying in the arms of her mother.

"What do you wish to name our son?" Bola asked, not looking up from her task of feeding the baby. It was not strange for Azog to be there as she fed, female Orcs nursed their young publicly all the time.

"Bolg," Azog answered.

Bola gave him an incredulous look, that name took after hers more than his.

"Usually you name the son after the father…"

"The girl's name will be Aza."

"I see you're quite fond of her," Bola gave a small smirk.

"Why shouldn't I? She looks like me." He said, giving her a somewhat denying look.

"And Bolg does not?"

"Not like Aza,"

"Treat them equally. I'll not have jealousy in our home!" Bola said sternly.

"Our son is to be a warrior, a leader of vast armies," He kneeled quickly at the side of his mate, eyes gleaming with providence. "Our daughter has no need to be violent."

"Who knows, maybe she will become even more deadly than her brother." Bola said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"No, she is female, she will be kept safe." Azog watched the little baby eat quietly for a moment.

"Maath lûb." He murmured, touching her soft, pale cheek.

He swore to protect her in that moment. Nothing would harm his daughter. Aza would grow to be a fine Orcess within these walls, never being forced into danger. Azog did not want the same pain her mother felt repeated onto his daughter. She was a gift a little child, a moon that glimmered down in the darkness of night.

[Translation: maath lûb – sweet daughter]